We're coming to an end! Hard to believe it's nearly over, there's only 3 more chapters after this folks, and then I will start taking prompts for the sequel, which will be a Sherlolly fic, 'Z - A of geting together'. Thank you all for your lovely support, and I hope you enjoy this installment :)

W is for Wedding

The big day had finally arrived, and everyone involved was on tenterhooks. Mary and John for obvious reasons, but Mrs Hudson, Greg and Molly were all concerned about Sherlock and his speech, along with the other best-manly duties. Tom was starting to get a little sick of Molly's obsessive concern for the consulting detective, and for the nth time that day had tried to reassure her that everything would be fine, no one would die and that even if his speech was a disaster, it would in no way reflect on her, she'd tried everything she could think of to support him and make sure he was prepared. In the end, he'd lost his temper a little and snapped that maybe she should marry him instead, seeing as she was so much more preoccupied with Sherlock's welfare over his.

Molly had spent all day trying to make it up to Tom, lavishing him with affection (fork stabbing aside), and for the most part, she had tried not to pay too much attention to Sherlock, focussing instead on the bride and groom, trying to see if any of their finishing touches would be good for her own wedding. She had even made pains not to follow Sherlock out when he left early, watching him sneak out as if he didn't belong, with a sombre expression not befitting the occasion.

She'd text him though, she'd managed to get away from the group, none of whom had noticed that Sherlock had left, to the loo on her own, and text Sherlock to let him know that she'd seen his not so subtle escape. When there was no reply after thirty seconds, she text him again, saying Toby would enjoy some company this evening, or there was cake in her fridge he could taunt his brother with. When there was no reply to this, she text Mycroft to let him know that his brother had escaped, and was satisfied that Sherlock would be less likely to end up in ditch somewhere.

She returned to the group, who had been joined by Mary and John for all of 5 minutes before they had to go off and entertain other guests. Mary gave her a knowing look, and when John asked if anyone had seen Sherlock, made sure to answer that she was sure he was somewhere in the building, probably sulking or eating too many biscuits. Molly looked at her with grateful eyes, trying to remain oblivious and cheerful on the outside.

When they got home, it was not obvious that Sherlock had been there, Tom remained none the wiser in fact, but Molly knew the subtle signs, the slight movement of her cushions and the faint whiff of his aftershave. Toby was gone.

The next morning, she text him again, under the guise of trying to find out if her beloved moggy had followed him home, and when he didn't send any response, she text Mycroft again. After no response from the pair of them, she decided to pull out the big guns, and phoned Mummy.

Mycroft was not surprised that his brother had left the wedding early, or that Molly had warned him of it, but finding Sherlock on his doorstep, cake and cat in tow not five minutes after she'd text was as close to being caught off guard he'd come for a long time. In return for cake with no associated fat jokes, Mycroft chose to not mention that his brother had brought Molly's cat with him, even though he was quite curious as to why as a dog-person, Sherlock had formed such an attachment to the large bundle of orange fluff. He wasn't against pets per se, but chose not to have any himself, it was too sentimental – all hearts are broken after all, just quicker when you invest emotions into a being with a significantly shorter life span than your own. The brothers settled in Mycroft's snug, Toby on Sherlock's lap, and a glass of whisky each to toast the happy couple. Not much was said while they sipped the obscenely expensive amber liquid, or indeed after, when they indulged in a few of their favourite board games. Sherlock needed a distraction, and Mycroft had nothing better to do than provide one, especially as he didn't fancy facing Mummy or Molly if they found out he'd turned Sherlock away on a potential danger night.

The shrill ringing of Mycroft's home phone startled the two awake, Sherlock face down in a puddle of drool on the sofa and Mycroft snoring inelegantly on the chair of his living room. Mycroft blinked twice and looked down at the handset on the side-table, rolled his eyes and sighed,

"It's Mummy." He croaked, apparently there had been more than one whisky consumed last night.

"Don't answer it," Sherlock replied roughly, his voice muffled by the cushion his face was buried in.

"She'll only ring again," Mycroft argued, there was no ignoring Mummy.

"Why is she ringing?" Sherlock asked, his head not dealing well with the after-effects of not only the whisky but the champagne, and wine at the wedding as well.

"Molly I expect," Mycroft rolled his eyes, Sherlock was not of any use to anyone until he'd had either caffeine or nicotine- preferably both.

"Why did you introduce them?" The younger brother whined, still not moving from his face-down position.

"I believe that was your idea,"

The ringing stopped and the call went to answer-phone,

"Would one of you pick up the phone, I know you're there. I will count to three, one... two...-" Mummy's irate voice could be heard through the crackle of the answering machine,

"Hello Mummy dearest, what can I do for you this fine morning?" Mycroft answered with a his best fake-happy tone of voice.

"It's raining. Do be a darling and text our lovely Molly back, she's quite worried about Sherlock." Mummy replied shortly, unimpressed with her sons.

"Would you like to speak to him yourself?" He asked, hoping to end this conversation as quickly as possible.

"How long has he been awake?" Mummy asked cautiously, early morning Sherlock was not her favourite person to talk to.

"As long as we've been speaking." He replied, enduring a little more talk with his mother was nothing compared with the repercussions for them for subjecting her to Sherlock in this mood.

"Maybe not, pass on my message please Mykey," She declined like he thought she would, and he couldn't blame her, even Molly struggled with him pre-coffee.

"Yes Mummy," He put the phone down with a sigh and turned to his younger brother's hungover form, "you heard the boss."

He picked Sherlock's phone up off the floor and put it on top of the consulting detective's head, next to the cat, and walked off to locate lots of coffee and some cigarettes.